


And After

by glim



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Fuck Or Die, Future Fic, M/M, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He thought he'd journeyed here to save Merlin, but he knows now, with each of Merlin's touches and with every quiet hitch of his own breath, that he is both the savior and the sacrifice, that he's always been, and that Merlin's played both those roles for him, over and over again. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	And After

"No," Arthur says and draws his sword, lays it down at the foot of the altar, and turns to the priestess. "You cannot have him." He lifts his chin, defiant, and holds up a hand when he hears Merlin scrabble at the stone altar to try and reach him.

The assembly – creatures of magic, all creatures of magic, like Merlin, like _himself_ , Arthur thinks and feels power shimmer over his senses – scrutinizes him, takes his measure as a king and as a man, and when the weight of their gaze lifts, Arthur can tell he has not been found wanting.

"Thank you," he says, bowing, and turns back to Merlin.

For three days and three nights, he's been here, held by invisible bonds to a stone altar, his body clad in a thin shift. The first night, he slept, the second he lay awake, the third he dreamed.

On that same third night, Arthur woke hours before dawn, a path mapped in his mind to this misty island.

Perhaps his captors do not apprehend the full extent of Merlin's power and that by taking the high sorcerer of Camelot they have taken the most powerful of them all.

They've weakened him, rendered him unable to break the bonds, but they haven't bound his magic yet. His dreams, the restless, feverish wanderings of his mind, can still reach Arthur, touch Arthur's sleeping mind and draw Arthur into his dreamscape.

"It took you three days to summon me? Did you think I wouldn't come?"

"Arthur. I didn't mean – " Merlin looks down at his body then at Arthur. "I didn't know what I'd find here. I didn't know what they wanted from me, at first."

"I cannot lose you," Arthur says, simply. He lowers his head, lays his need and his humility like offerings before the altar, and finds himself stripped bare. Magic skitters over his skin and Arthur steps forward.

Merlin does not lie back, does not make himself a willing sacrifice, and does not resign himself to fate. He pulls Arthur toward him and slips his arm around Arthur's neck as soon as he's close enough, then holds his lips to Arthur's ear.

"They wanted to draw the magic from me." Merlin's breath is hot and damp against Arthur's ear. His voice doesn't shake, but there is a tremor, an uncertainty behind his words. "But if you – can you – you don't have to – "

Before Merlin can finish, Arthur is already thinking _yes_. As if there were any other answer; of course he'll say yes. He will take this on, whatever it is, whatever it means to draw Merlin and the magic inherent in Merlin's body into himself, he will do for Merlin what Merlin has always done for him; he will put aside his own desires to ensure Merlin survives.

Except, no, it's not quite like that this time. Warmth flares in the pit of Arthur's stomach and at the touch of Merlin's hand against his hip, he blushes all over his body and lowers his eyes.

He and Merlin, at various points in their lives, have been master and servant, they've been friends, and, at times, both more and less than friends. They have fought, they have gone months without speaking, and they have, at times, kept their minds and hearts locked away from each other.

And they have been so close, so very close, that Arthur is aware that there has never been anyone else with whom he has felt himself unfold they way he has with Merlin. He has wanted Merlin – wanted to know him, to gain his trust and his friendship, to comprehend the extent of his power and his loyalty and his heart – and he has _wanted_ Merlin.

Arthur offers that desire to Merlin now, his eyes still lowered and Merlin's lips still at his ear. The cold stone of the altar bites into Arthur's skin and the air around them is cold and raw, sunlight still just a glimmer on the horizon.

The hand at Arthur's hip strokes, warm and certain, and Merlin leads Arthur down to recline next to him. For all the time he's spent here, stretched out on stone in the misty cold air, Merlin's body is warm, too. Warm and strong and familiar. He smiles when Arthur shivers and strokes the palm of his hand up Arthur's side and down the length of his thigh.

"Do you remember that afternoon when we saw the unicorn? The crops had just come back to life and we went out to the fields."

"Merlin, that was years ago."

"Do you remember?"

"I… Yes. Of course I do." Arthur remembers it all – the fields wasted, the wells dry, his people starving, the great joy that suffused the land when life and sustenance returned.

"All right. Remember it now. It'll make it easier to be here."

Arthur opens his mouth to ask Merlin why, but his breath catches and cuts off his words. Nothing around him and Merlin changes, the island and the altar remain cloaked in mist and magic, but Arthur can _feel_ the memory around him. The heat of the afternoon sun, the golden ripeness of the grain, the great sense of relief that welled up inside him.

He feels what Merlin felt then: the magic that reached down into the soil and up into the clouds, his own relief and his wonder.

The warmth of memory suffuses Arthur now and the feeling is as much Merlin as it is magic. He moves into Merlin's touch, imagines himself a prince – a boy – again and feels sunlight on his skin and the tickle of grass at the back of his neck.

"What if I said, that even then, I wanted this." Merlin fingers the angle of Arthur's hip and fits his hand right against Arthur and holds him close enough to bring their mouths together.

"Even then?"

"Even then. And after." Merlin's lips curve, half-way to a smile, and his tongue edges along Arthur's bottom lip.

Merlin doesn't need to tell Arthur about all the days that followed the one in the sun-drenched grain fields. That's a memory, a history they both already share, one that has brought them here, to this stone altar and this strange exchange of body and breath.

Arthur parts his lips to deepen the kiss and something akin to relief courses through him once more. "I would say, had I understood, had you not been such a fool, we should've –"

"We should've." Merlin kisses Arthur's lips, kisses the corner of his mouth and licks his tongue between Arthur's lips to part them further; he keeps on kissing him when Arthur gasps and kisses him harder when Arthur tries to breathe. "And now, we shall."

"And after?" He has waited so long and wanted so much, it seems near impossible to have to give Merlin up after this morning ends.

"And after."

Desire flares up inside Arthur again and he kisses Merlin back with a sudden, startling urgency. All the want, all the desire and need, all the frustration and affection and longing that he's held inside for Merlin all these years unfurls and he allows himself, here, now, in this strange place where he is at once both hidden and exposed, to surrender himself.

Merlin's hand smooths over Arthur's stomach to nudge Arthur down onto his back, then, while Arthur watches, he undoes the laces at his neck and shrugs the thin, white shift from his shoulders. It falls silently onto the altar behind Merlin and his smile is faint and brief when he glances back at it before turning his attention to Arthur.

He starts with his fingers, working them over the muscles in Arthur's arms and chest, tracing over faded scar-lines and stroking over the back of Arthur's hands and the ladder of his ribcage. He murmurs something soft and soothing when Arthur arches into the touch, and lowers his mouth to the center of Arthur's chest to press one warm, wet kiss there.

Arthur sighs, and Merlin makes another indistinct sound, a lower one, that Arthur can feel rumble through his own chest. The tips of his toes brush against Arthur's ankle and Merlin laughs, then kisses Arthur's chest again.

His body is lean and strong, magic thrumming along with the blood beneath his skin, and all Merlin needs to do to still Arthur, to stop him from arching up even closer, is to rest his palm on Arthur's stomach. Arthur realizes, with that one gesture, that it is not this moment he's yielded to Merlin, but all his naked, most vulnerable moments.

That knowledge surges like desire through Arthur, like blood and magic, and he yearns, helpless, up against the pressure of Merlin's palm.

Merlin slides down to kiss his stomach, to mouth against the angle of Arthur's hip, and to continue to kiss over Arthur's skin, to lick and nuzzle and whisper against Arthur until his body seems to yearn toward Merlin of its own accord.

By the time Merlin settles between his thighs and nuzzles at the base of his cock, Arthur is hard, desperate and needy. He thought he'd journeyed here to save Merlin, but he knows now, with each of Merlin's touches and with every quiet hitch of his own breath, that he is both the savior and the sacrifice, that he's always been, and that Merlin's played both those roles for him, over and over again.

So, when Merlin digs his fingers into Arthur's hips and licks around the head and down the length of his erection, Arthur gives himself over to Merlin. He offers Merlin the pounding of his heart and the unsteady roughness of his breath; he offers his need, the scrape of his fingers against the stone and the rise of his hips from its cold surface to thrust up into the heat of Merlin's mouth.

From there on in, all Arthur feels is heat – of his own skin and of Merlin's mouth, of the sweat that dampens both their bodies. He forgets that he is on display and that the mist barely cloaks their actions. All he discerns is the warmth of Merlin's body and the way that Merlin has the ability to coax him further and further along; even when Arthur thinks that his desire has reached its highest point, Merlin is able to pull him further in.

And Merlin – _god_ , his mouth and tongue and the blue of his eyes as he looks up at Arthur from beneath his eyelashes – Merlin eases the grip of his fingers on Arthur for a moment, then holds him tighter when Arthur shudders. He's coming before the shudder passes, the desperation of his desire uncurling hotly around him, Merlin's mouth still on him, swallowing him down, taking him in.

Like he'll take Merlin in. Though, not quite like, Arthur thinks, his mind fuzzy, his body loose and sated, and pushes back against the oil-slick finger Merlin pushes inside him. Later he'll ask Merlin where he got the oil, but now Merlin's slipping in a second finger, crooking it slightly inside Arthur, and the pleasure that's already uncoiled inside Arthur unfurls further through his limbs.

Arthur looks at Merlin through heavy eyelids and reaches to brush his own fingers against Merlin's shoulder. His face is flushed, his eyes dark, and he trembles when he draws his fingers from Arthur and rests his hand at Arthur's side.

Leaning up closer, Arthur rubs his thumb along the line of Merlin's collarbone, touches his shoulder again, and strokes the back of his hand up and down Merlin's arm. Another tremble passes through Merlin and he ducks his head, panting softly so that his breath puffs against Arthur's skin.

"Should I tell you to remember the sun on the wheat that afternoon?" Arthur asks and his voice is low and hoarse.

Merlin doesn't reply, but a tiny smile appears when he raises his face. "It couldn't've happened back then…"

"I know." They weren't ready for each other back then, and it's more than a little unfair that it took the fear of loss to show Arthur that they are ready now.

Merlin nods, briefly, and lets Arthur keep on touching him for another minute. When he moves, he does it slowly, mapping his hand over Arthur's body before guiding Arthur's leg up over his shoulder. He presses inside Arthur with the same slow care, at least at first, until it looks and feels as if every last reservation he has dissipates. Arthur groans, pushes back, relishes the fullness that edges toward painfulness, and says something wordless, ridiculous and fond, to get Merlin to thrust harder into him.

Merlin collapses on top of Arthur after he comes, sweaty and panting and perfect, and though his body is heavy against Arthur's and his breath tickles Arthur's neck in a way that's almost uncomfortable, Arthur has no strength or desire to move.

*

Arthur wakes up clothed, sore, and satisfied, his head in Merlin's lap, his sword at Merlin's side.

The world around them is changed; instead of the mist of the pre-dawn hours, sunlight spills over the altar. The assembly of the creatures of magic is gone, though a tingling runs up and down Arthur's spine and skitters over his skin.

 

*

They stop just outside the border of Camelot and Arthur lights a fire against the late autumn chill.

"What do we do now?" Merlin's gaze flicks from the fire to Arthur, back to the fire, and settles on Arthur when he comes to sit closer to Merlin.

"Well, we go back to Camelot –"

"No, I mean…"

"I know." Arthur holds Merlin's gaze for another moment. "We go back to Camelot, and take up our duties. Tonight – "

" – you will come to my chambers?" Merlin's expression remains serious for only a moment before it softens and he reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb against Arthur's lower lip. "Come to my chambers, Arthur."

Before today, there would have been a thousand complications, a thousand reasons that Arthur could have cited for why he ought not go to Merlin. Yet, today, they all disappear like the morning mist in the light of the rising sun when Merlin's hand cups his cheek and his lips whisper over Arthur's mouth. There is no complication, no reason strong enough, to keep himself away.


End file.
